


Sex and Revolution

by HeartofCanada (Tassledown), Tassledown



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Communist Russia, Consensual Violence, Dirty Talk, French History, Impact Play, Kink, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Denial, PWP, Prussia has really weird kinks okay, Prussian History (Middle Ages), Russian History, Trans Character, Using history as foreplay, Using political theory as foreplay as well, referencing, the French Revolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 17:29:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4796102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tassledown/pseuds/HeartofCanada, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tassledown/pseuds/Tassledown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prussia and France have been friends for so much of their lives that some things just don't carry the same weight as they used to, and some things they know they will never agree on. </p><p>That doesn't mean they can't have a little fun arguing about it just because they want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex and Revolution

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Sex and Revolution](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830168) by [AsphierYang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsphierYang/pseuds/AsphierYang)



> This is what passes for PWP from me. Really. 
> 
> My apologies if I misrepresent your favourite political theory, I did not refresh my poli-sci knowledge to write this so something might be slightly off. You may comment and correct me if you so wish after the fact. 
> 
> This is using the same characterization as the Russia and Prussia fics I've done.

“Fuck all of this shit,” Gilbert announced. “I hate party meetings. I hate party politics!” He threw himself into the first chair he found in the hotel lobby and covered his face.

“Were you addressing your fascists again, or is there someone else's party in Europe you wish to strangle today?” François asked. He pushed off the wall across the entry way to join him. 

Gilbert glowered at him. “Neither, thankfully I'm talking about all this... austerity bullshit around the Euro. Not that I expect you'd agree. You enjoy feeling superior to the rest of Europe.”

“Moi?” François pressed his hand to his chest. “Monsieur Gilbert, you of all people should know better! I am, in fact, superior to the rest of Europe. You would prefer we return to the Dark Ages of tyrants and perpetual war.”

“Better than beheading your government in a fit of pique,” Gilbert snapped back, but he was smiling and leaned forward in his chair. “You'd rather starve than serve another King.”

“My people deserved better.” François rested his hip on the arm of the chair. He smiled beatifically at him and stroked Gilbert's hair out of his face. “Those who claimed to be better than the people did not deserve to lead them and prevented us reaching our true potential as a Republic.”

Gilbert snorted. “The people couldn't find their ass with a compass and a map. With one person in charge, everything gets done because it has to be or everyone knows who's to blame.”

“Yes, everything.” François snorted. “The kitchen maids and your neighbours, more like – which, you enjoyed burning your neighbours fields and stealing their land, admit it.”

“Of course I did,” Gilbert leaned onto François' thigh. “But my country didn't immortalize it as our national anthem, either. We remembered the important things, like our women and beer.”

François cupped his chin. “You are still a warmonger, mon cher.”

“You cut off your own connection to God.” He closed his eyes, leaning into his touch.

“Better to die an atheist and free than to find salvation in chains.”

Gilbert grinned. “You are asking for a fight, François.”

“Do you not wish to fight me?” François fluttered his eyelashes at him. 

Gilbert twined his fingers into his necktie. “Oh no, but I thought since we were purportedly supposed to be decreasing the relative debt of the Eurozone I wasn't gonna be the one to suggest damaging the entryway first.”

“I would never do something so crass!” François laughed. “Mon dieu, the decorator here was –”

Gilbert didn't let him finish. He stood up and punched him in the face, hard enough to rip his tie out of his hand and throw him to the floor. François kicked out his knee and brought Gilbert down as well before he scrambled back to his feet.

“You betrayed your own monarchs,” François announced. He threw a kick at Gilbert's chest and missed by a hair as Gil scrambled back to his feet. “You became a communist, to a country that machine-gunned their royals in a basement!”

“At least I committed treason properly, not trying to live in constant revolution!” 

Gilbert faked a punch at François' face and then grabbed his arm when he moved to block. He wrenched him around to pin his arm behind his back. François stomped on his foot and kicked his shin hard enough to knock him off balance. Gilbert fell, and took François down with him. François elbowed him in the stomach hard enough to make him let go, then moved out of reach. 

“You would follow anyone who fed you a war,” François taunted. 

“You'd fight with yourself in the mirror if there wasn't enough radicals in your streets.” Gilbert tried to catch his breath and get up, but his binder made it hard to recover quickly.

François grabbed the front of his shirt and jerked him to his feet. “Oui, I would,” he breathed. “Are you done?”

Gil considered the question, but he wasn't getting his breath back here and they couldn't fuck on the floor anyways. He scowled but he nodded, dropping his eyes. François hauled him to his feet and Stepped with him to his hotel room. Once there, François pushed him to his knees and grabbed his hair. 

“You remember the safewords, yes?” François asked demurely.

“Yes,” Gil sighed a little and tilted his head back. “Green.”

François walked around to face him, then backhanded him across the face. “You are incredibly vulgar,” he said. “Can't you speak French properly?”

“I would never sully my mouth with such a vulgar form of Latin,” Gil retorted, but he didn't try to get up off the floor. “You could not possibly call someone else vulgar you son of a bitch.”

François slapped him again and grabbed the front of his shirt. “Apologize, mon cher.”

“I'm very sorry. Can you take my shirt off for me?” Gil fluttered his eyelashes at him, but he was struggling to get his breath back. He needed his binder off before they could continue.

François didn't argue. He went down on one knee to pull Gil's shirt up and hissed softly. “You are very bruised, mon cher, what misfortune.”

“You did it on purpose,” Gil retorted.

François unlaced the binder and pulled it over his head as well, then kissed the marks blooming on his side. “Oui, I did. You liked it, admit it.”

Gil leaned his head back and moaned as François mouthed his skin. His hands jumped forward to cup François' hips and keep his balance. François bit down on the bruise until Gilbert gasped, then he straightened to cup Gil's face. 

“Mon Prusse, you do not get more play until you have apologized to me properly.”

Gilbert groaned. "You're still wrong.”

“That does not matter, mon papillon. You lost. Tell me why you lost.”

Instead, Gilbert laughed. “You haven't won anything in the past two centuries.”

François pulled Gil's head back by his hair. “You will not stop fighting me until I force you, is that it?”

Gilbert moaned and his eyes fluttered, the tingles in his scalp sweeping down into his stomach. France twisted his hand and pulled Gilbert against his body.

“Where did all your fight go, mon Prusse? Do you give up on your monarchy so easily?”

Gil jerked his chin down, panting through the lust pooling in his stomach. “I have not!”

François got to his feet and threw Gilbert back into a chair. He pinned him to the seat with a hand over his throat and freed his cock from his pants. Gilbert braced his hands and leaned into François' grip, hot and eager for François to finish undressing.

“Ah yes, that look,” François purred. “It is beautiful, Gilbert, but you are more beautiful with that foul mouth of yours too full to talk.”

“Kingslayer,” Gilbert spat. “Regicide. You'd murder your whole government in cold blood to get your way.”

François dug his nails into Gil's throat, then threw him facedown to the floor. He pinned him with his foot on his back, in order to jerk his hands behind his back. Gilbert struggled until François had tied them together with the smooth fabric of his tie.

Gilbert laughed. “You think that can hold me?”

“I expect you will be too busy to break free.” François jerked the tie tight, enough so that Gilbert knew he wouldn't be wriggling out without concerted effort. With that done, François pulled him back up to his knees and stood, his cock level with Gilbert's eyes. “You will be busy apologizing to me, won't you mon papillon? Or should I convince you first?”

Gilbert glanced up at François and a smile stole across his face. François smirked back and knelt in front of him. He opened Gilbert's pants and pulled him up enough to push his pants and underwear down to his knees.

Holding him against this chest, François stroked his hand between Gilbert's legs and coaxed him with deft fingers until he moaned with pleasure. 

“What are you sorry for?” François whispered. He hooked his fingers inside him and Gilbert gasped.

“I – I'm sorry, I... ah, François!”

François' nail bit into his skin and Gilbert's body jumped. “That was not a real apology, mon papillon.”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Gilbert panted. “I'm sorry I was mocking you. Fuck, don't stop.”

François kissed his cheek. “Tell me more.”

“I'm too stubborn. I don't like new governments.”

“You've never liked any government, mon beau, be more specific.”

His fingers did something that made his back bow and Gilbert collapsed against his chest with a cry. He took a minute to pull himself back together enough to answer. “I... I think Republics are chaos.”

“Oui. And?”

“I... I don't like party systems because I can't kill them. I can't kill them all.”

“And you call me Kingslayer?” François mocked. “You live for slaughter.”

Gilbert squirmed up his chest, hiding his smile. “An army with a country.”

“You loved your kings because you could make them do what you wanted.”

“Yes,” Gil moaned. “You can control them. Predict them.” He made an inhuman noise as his mind blurred with pleasure. “G-get rid of them, or teach them to depend on you...”

“Oui, as long as it works. As long as they live.”

Gilbert nodded, clenching his legs on François' hand. François stopped talking and held him close, working his body until he was gasping for breath on the edge of orgasm.

François stopped and nipped his earlobe.

“Sadly for you, kings are very mortal beings. You always had to train a new one, didn't you?”

“France...” Gilbert whimpered. “Please.”

“Kings die, and Republics live on.” François touched his cheek and smirked at him. “You haven't admitted I'm right yet, mon Prusse.”

Gilbert turned his face to kiss François' hand and began to lick his fingers clean, too mad with lust to speak. He sucked as François watched, smiling at him with languid eyes.

“You are so very nice sometimes, Gilbert,” François purred. “It's almost enough to make me forget how very much you like to always win our arguments.”

Gilbert made an agreeable noise and dragged a long lick across his palm.

“You can be such a dreadful bore. All you have to do is say a few words and I'll bring you back to orgasm, mon Prusse.”

“Ja, Frankreich.”

François slapped him hard across the face. “Say it in French.”

Gilbert smirked up at him, but François slapped him across the face before he could respond.

“Now my dear, won't you let me please you?”

Gilbert closed his eyes and nodded. “Oui, François. You are right.”

“I am not sure I believe you.” François touched the back of his head and Gilbert opened his eyes again. François trailed his hand across the top of his pants, and gave him a look that asked if he wanted to. Gilbert leaned into his hand more and smiled, and François' eyes softened with lust all over again. “You know how to convince me.”

Gilbert leaned over to kiss the tip of his cock where it still hung free of his pants, proudly erect. François gasped and dug his nails into his hair. He used the hand in his hair to force Gil's head down over his cock. Gilbert coughed and stopped himself from biting him on reflex, relaxing and wrapping his mouth around it with a groan.

“You insult me,” François grunted. “Aggravate me on purpose. Did you speak to your kings like this?”

Gilbert hummed around his cock, working his mouth over as much of his skin as he could.

“You are so terribly insistent you only love a king, perhaps you should have a proper Republic to rule you, with one part of the whole for you to focus on.”

Gilbert moaned involuntarily. 

“But you do not want only one lover, mon beau. You have dozens. You need a Republic because you love a republic.”

Gil rolled his eyes up to look at him and found François smiling down at him, his cheeks flushed with arousal. François stroked his fingers over Gil's hair and thrust into his throat. Gilbert gagged and went still, opening his mouth to pant around his cock.

“You do much better apologizing like this. Your people are perfectly happy as a Republic and you know it.” François stroked his face with one hand. “Tell me you love my Republic and I will fuck you in my bed, or you can remain stubborn and keep my cock in your mouth until I come and leave you with no finish.”

Gilbert closed his eyes happily and dragged his tongue along the bottom of François' cock. He took it back into his mouth and hummed, working to drive him mad. 

François kept his composure for perhaps a minute before he pulled Gilbert off and scowled at him through barely hidden laughter. 

“You refuse to change, don't you?”

Gilbert gave him the best penitent look he could manage. He got an exasperated look in return.

“You will be punished.” François said firmly.

Gilbert licked his lips ostentatiously. “I was distracted.”

“You simply need to be ruled, don't you?”

“Yes, sir.”

François pulled him to his feet and threw him facedown onto the bed. “Stay there.”

Gilbert obliged, in part because he could hardly get very far with his hands bound and his pants tangled around his knees. When François returned, he stripped the pants away and then touched the end of a crop to his ass. Gil pressed back into it and looked back at François with warm eyes.

“What is your safeword?” François asked.

“Red, sir.” Gilbert said, and blushed at the automatic title. “You're an ass.”

“So are you,” François said, and slapped the crop across his ass. “You never apologize.” He sighed dramatically as he hit him again. “You drag things out forever! You never back down. You mock me incessantly!”

Gilbert jumped at the first few strikes until his skin warmed up. François was very good with the crop, better than Gilbert remembered. He gasped and buried his face in the blanket as he twitched through each impact, his nerves bright and alert.

“You chose a Republic, you and your brother, and I know you'd never dream of taking it back. I don't know why you must be so miserable at me for having given you such a wonderful gift!” He matched his words to his strikes, bringing the leather down each time he paused. “You forget so very many of the problems you had with your monarchies. You simply do not want to admit that you find politics without a sword dull, don't you?”

“Jawohl!” Gilbert said and flushed, turning his face so he could breathe more easily. 

“Yes. You are so much better now that I've put you in your place, aren't you Gilbert?” He dragged the tip of the crop down the curve of his ass to touch between his legs. Gilbert twitched and pressed into it, nearly thrusting himself over the end before François moved it out of reach. “Are you even still listening to me?”

“Yes,” Gilbert moaned. “Please, François.”

“Ahh, but you do not love my Republics anymore, do you? You fell for the Communists.”

Gilbert spread his legs and shivered in place. “I hoped... I thought... it would be better than a Republic.”

François leaned on the bed next to him and abruptly pressed the handle of the crop slowly inside him. Gilbert gasped and thrust down against it, whimpering with pleasure. François kissed his cheek. 

“You are lying to me,” François whispered. “I know you fell in love with it. You fall for governments so easily sometimes.”

Gilbert nodded and clenched around the handle of the crop, his breath coming in short pants. 

“You thought it had potential, did you not? Potential that my Republics didn't have.”

“Your Republics were paved with blood and terror,” Gilbert mumbled.

“Oui, so unlike Communism.” 

Gilbert muffled a laugh and turned to try and kiss his face. François cupped his chin and pressed one kiss to his lips.

“However, unlike Communism, my Republics are where you came home to, isn't it?” He kissed him and pulled the crop slowly out of his body. “You love many Republics now.”

Gilbert twitched in place and whimpered. “Yes, yes I do. I'm sorry I insulted yours. You're always perfect.”

François made another pleased noise and untied Gilbert's hands. He moved up the bed and Gilbert pushed himself up on shaking muscles and crawled after him and over his lap to press a kiss to his lips. François kissed him back and pushed him over onto his back, kissing all over his hot skin with lips and tongue. Gilbert shivered beneath him until François returned his hand between his legs. 

When he brought him to that shuddering place just shy of his orgasm, François stopped to slowly slide his cock inside him, keeping him on that edge the entire time as Gilbert breathlessly begged him to let him come.

“You're beautiful like this,” François whispered. “A delight from head to... toe.” 

“Nnn, France.” Gilbert whimpered and closed his eyes hard.

François laughed and cradled Gilbert's head against his shoulder as he shifted to thrust into him hard. Gilbert swore and sank his teeth into his shoulder as he orgasmed, even though he was unable to hold on through it all. 

“Ahh,” François breathed. “I love how you say my name.”

Gilbert wrapped his legs around François' hips when he could and clung to him with his heels and nails dug into his flesh. They were pressed so tight Gilbert could feel as François started to near his own orgasm and shuddered over him. Gilbert's body sang and nearly rebelled before he came to orgasm again. François halted overtop of him, breathing hard.

“I love being inside you for that,” François breathed. “Should I do it again?”

Gilbert gasped until he had his breath back. “Stop showing off.”

François kissed him on the mouth and thrust into him hard, pushing him down into the blankets. They stayed together, wrapped up from mouth to hips, until François had to pull back to breathe and swear, riding the edge of his own orgasm. Gilbert giggled weakly.

“You swear so beautifully, you stupid Frenchman,” he said.

François kissed his ear and whispered obscene things until his voice broke on his own orgasm. François clung to him and then collapsed over his chest. Gilbert let himself relax as well, relaxing his fingers one by one across François' back. It was another minute before François pushed himself up and kissed him again, his hands on either side of Gilbert's face. 

“Mmm, mon cherie, how do you feel?”

“Tired,” Gilbert breathed. “Can we have a bath?”

“Of course.” François wrapped his fingers into Gilbert's hair. “Now or in a minute?”

“Mmm. Don't care.” Gilbert closed his eyes and idly pulled François hair free of its pigtail as well to play with it in turn. The glossy finish of his orgasms and adrenaline slowly began to fade and little aches and pains came back to his attention.

“Let my feeling return to my limbs,” François asked. “You always make me so happy when you are here.”

Gilbert nodded. He swallowed a lump in his throat that hadn't been there before and nodded, feeling the edge of tears on his eyes. He clung tighter to François' back, not wanting him to get up but not wanting to bother him with it quite yet. He deserved the chance to relax first, right?

After a minute of silence, François shifted on top of him and asked, “Gilbert?”

Gil buried his face in his hair and sighed. “M'fine. Just tired,” he breathed, then gave up, knowing François had noticed his mood. “Can we bath now?” 

He was starting to feel cold and he knew it wasn't going to get better soon. The high had faded and as much as he had enjoyed it it took its toll after the fact. 

“Oui,” François rolled off his body and scooped him up in his arms. “Of course we can. Come with me.”

Gilbert wrapped his arms around François' neck and leaned gratefully into his body. He relaxed and stopped fighting the urge to cry, glad he was there and glad he was holding him still. 

François didn't ask. He didn't need to. He kissed the tears off Gilbert's cheeks and started the bath and just held him as they waited for it to fill.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not up to doing a blow-by-blow of every little historical event they reference right now, because this is supposed to be PWP. A short list is the Russian and French Revolutions, and East German and Prussian politics.
> 
> The drop at the end of the fic is known in BDSM as "Subdrop" and is basically just an emotional crash after an intense scene. It's normal, not a sign anything went wrong, and one of many reasons why aftercare - staying with your partner and making sure they're comfortable and okay - is so important. ("Domdrop" is also possible, but generally speaking less common.)
> 
> For those who don't know: Safewords are a way to check with a partner if they're okay with the way a scene is going. The most common is the stoplight system, in which "green" means everything's okay, "yellow" that you need a breather, and "red" that the scene needs to stop and shift into aftercare. In scene, both uses are simply a check that Gil can still remember them if he needs them.


End file.
